by Platt, Meara
“And how is any of this relevant to me? I’m yer daughter’s son.”
“Unlike the English, the grants to our Scottish titles on occasion will allow inheritance to pass through the female line. Mine is such. As my grandson, ye’re my next closest blood kin. Ye will inherit the title. So, I’ve made arrangements to secure a smooth transition when the time comes.”
The little hairs on the back of Thad’s neck began to tingle. “What sort of arrangements?”
“The proper succession documents are all in place. The clan leaders have all been apprised of the situation.” But his grandfather was fidgeting and seemed hesitant to look him in the eyes. “Since a man in yer position must set a proper example… I’ve taken the liberty of…I’ve indicated my consent to a betrothal between you and the Duke of Ashington’s daughter.”
“Over my dead body,” he and Caithness said at the same time.
“A Lowlander?” Caithness remarked with obvious disgust. “If he’s to marry, it will be to one of us.” He turned to Thad, his chest puffed out in Highland pride. “The Duke of Braemer’s daughter is–”
“I’ll no’ be taking any bride from either of ye. When I marry, it will be to a lass of my own choosing.”
“The hell, ye say.” Hume was having none of it. “It’s all arranged…well, almost. We’ll sign the betrothal contracts upon our return to Coldstream Castle.”
“Ashington’s a cowardly toadie.” Caithness shot him a look of utter disgust. “He was awarded the dukedom because he turned traitor to the Scottish cause. Ye’ll never breed fine sons from that clan, lad. Do as I say. Marry Braemer’s daughter. That’s the betrothal contract we’ll sign.”
To emphasize his point, Caithness pounded on the dining table, causing the neatly laid out china plate settings and silverware to clatter and clink against each other.
Castlereagh scowled at his granduncle before turning his attention back to Thad. “Sorry, lad. As Hume’s successor, you’ll need to wed, not only for the purpose of breeding heirs. The war has been hard on the Scots in particular. Wherever there’s hardship, there’s bound to be talk of rebellion. The Scots and the English have a long history of it.”
Thad frowned. “Are ye suggesting we aren’t loyal to the Crown?”
“I have no doubt about your loyalty, son. But there are others who cannot be trusted. We have to put a quick stop to the treasonous talk that’s been spreading.”
“And how will my marrying help the situation?”
“Don’t ask me to explain the reason why these things work, but a wedding is just the thing to cool tempers. You’re young. A nice-looking lad. Heir to an earldom.”
Thad grunted in displeasure. “I’m a stranger to my own blood kin.”
His grandfather cracked a smile that looked forced and insincere. “But ye won’t be any longer. Ye’ll return to Coldstream with me. We’ll have a great celebration and I’ll introduce ye to the Humes.”
“But ye’ll marry the Braemer lass,” Caithness interjected. “Ye’ll no’ lie with a traitorous Ashington while there’s breath left in me. A Highland lass is what ye need to breed proper heirs.”
“Ye’ll no’ lie with a Braemer while there’s breath left in me,” Hume countered. “I’ll no’ have ye marry a rebel Highlander. The only thing they know how to breed is sheep.”
“I’ll no’ marry either of them.” Thad stepped between the two men as they raised their fists, prepared to brawl in Castlereagh’s dining room. “Have ye both gone mad? Are ye that filled with hatred for each other that ye’ve lost all reason?”
“It’s for yer own good, lad,” Hume said, sounding not at all contrite.
Caithness opened his mouth, prepared to bellow a retort, but Thad’s glower stopped him. “So, if I understand the two of you correctly,” he said, tossing each of them another warning scowl, “I’ll be condemned by my Caithness kinsmen if I marry a Lowlander’s daughter. And I’ll be condemned by my Hume kinsmen if I marry a Highlander’s daughter.”
Each earl nodded.
“Fine, then I’ll marry a lass of my own choosing. She won’t be a Highlander or a Lowlander.”
His grandfather gazed at him in confusion. “Then what’s she to be?”
“A Sassenach?” Caithness bellowed, quickly grasping his intention. “Ye can’t be serious? Ye’d reject the Duke of Braemer’s daughter for an Englishwoman? Who is she? I forbid it.”
“So do I,” Hume said with a nod, perhaps the only time the two earls ever agreed on something.
But their moment of unity was short-lived. The pair turned on each other, accusing the other of neglecting Thad’s proper Scottish education.
However, Castlereagh’s eyes were alight. “Who’s the girl, lad?”
“Lady Penelope Sherbourne, sister of the Earl of Welles. I’ve already offered for her hand in marriage.” The lie floated out of his mouth like water down a rushing stream. He didn’t care. No one was going to foist a bride on him. He knew the girl he wanted.
His heart was Loopy’s forever.
“And?” Caithness asked, his mouth agape.
“And what?” He wanted to tell them it was none of their business. But his every move was now important to them. Not only had he suddenly become Hume’s heir, but he also had strong ties to one of the most important Highland clans through Caithness. He hated the politics of it, and also hated that he’d just lied to everyone.
Mostly, he worried about hurting Loopy.
He hadn’t proposed to her.
But Wycke certainly would, for she was beautiful and had shown Wycke none of her spit and fire, behaving like a dull, dutiful debutante at their last meeting. If the man wanted a biddable wife, he was in for a surprise. Loopy was anything but that. Yet Wycke would never know it until it was too late.
Wycke was not the sort to tease or challenge her. She’d have no reason to show him a little of her temper. Then again, perhaps she would, and he’d be fine with it. He’d likely fall in love with her anyway. How could he not?
“I’ve proposed, but she may refuse me. I’ve said nothing to her brother yet. No point until I have her answer.” He rubbed a hand across his neck, silently cursing himself not only for blurting the lie in the first place, but for now repeating and embellishing it. Blessed saints. He had to get word to Loopy about this mess of his own creation.
Would she play along?
It wasn’t fair to ask her, but he’d make it up to her somehow. She would understand his situation and forgive him, wouldn’t she? He had no desire to turn his search for a wife into a spectacle. The idea of having a string of women paraded before him like show horses roiled his stomach. “Likely she will refuse me.”
Damn it, the pair were scowling at him again.
“Why would she refuse ye? Because ye’re an unworthy Scot?” Caithness crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. “Who does she think she is?”
“These English aren’t to be trusted. They believe they’re better than all of us.” Hume’s hands were curled into fists. “Why won’t she have ye?”
“She is better than me. I am unworthy of her.” Thad did not like the direction of the conversation. The only good to come of it was learning his brother and cousins had survived. He didn’t care about the Hume earldom, except it now gave him something to offer Loopy other than merely his heart.
He could ask her to marry him with his head held high.
He would not be proposing as a lowly captain in the Greys or laird of a tiny holding in Thurso. He’d come to her as an earl’s heir. A Lowlander earl, but one couldn’t have everything. The Hume seat was in Coldstream, just across the border between England and Scotland.
Loopy did not want to be separated from her family. Coldstream was about a week’s ride by carriage from Wellesford, but better than the month’s journey it would take to travel there from the Highlands.
As for her brother’s consent to the marriage, Nathaniel would approve without question. In truth, he would have approved their u
nion if Loopy loved him, no matter what Thad’s situation.
However, she wanted Wycke.
“Captain MacLauren,” Castlereagh said, eyeing him like a hawk. “You are now the Earl of Hume’s heir. This is your opportunity to solidify your ties to one of England’s wealthiest and most respected families. Lady Penelope Sherbourne is an excellent choice. Don’t be a fool and muck this up.”
Hume scowled.
Caithness grunted in disgust. “I suppose anything’s better than a Lowlander. Ye all sold yer souls to the English long ago anyway.”
“And what of your bloodline, Caithness?” Castlereagh eyed him sharply. “Thad’s cousin, Malcolm MacLauren, will eventually inherit your title. What will you have him do? Marry a Scottish nobleman’s daughter who’ll bring no more than a flock of sheep to their union as dowry? Or will you see reason and have him make an important connection?”
His gaze took in the three Scots standing before him. “This is a historic moment, gentlemen. Will you meet the challenge? Unite England and Scotland through marriages that will ensure a lasting peace?”
“Why should you care, Castlereagh? You’re an Irishman, and we all know the Irish have no love for the English.” Caithness appeared unmoved.
“Do ye think the Crown will reward ye for all yer work? They’ll toss ye aside once they don’t need ye anymore,” Hume muttered.
Thad took a deep breath, knowing he was about to step deeper into the mire of his own creation. But he was sick of war, as were most of the men who’d fought in the many brutal campaigns over the years. Thousands had died fighting Napoleon. Tens of thousands. And these two old goats were still bickering and ready to commit their clans to more fighting.
He wasn’t certain how his betrothal to an Englishwoman would help matters, but he loved Penelope. He’d thought she would be better off with Wycke. However, this conversation had changed his perspective.
Castlereagh was eager for the match.
Indeed, if the old Irishman was to be believed, the fate of Scotland and England rested upon his shoulders.
He was a failure as her test frog.
But he’d do his best to make her a good husband.
Did he have a chance to win her heart?
He hoped so, for he was going courting…Scottish style.
Chapter Eight
“Thad, dear boy,” Matilda cried, lumbering down the stairs and calling to him as he was about to leave for Weymouth. She clutched the bannister with one hand and held the note he’d left for her in the other. She was still in her bedclothes, a robe hastily tossed on-of finest silk, of course-and matching mob cap perched atop her head.
He hadn’t expected her to be awake, for it was barely break of day. “I didn’t mean to get ye out of bed, Your Grace.”
“I know, but I was worried about your meeting last night with those hot-tempered kinsmen of yours. How did it go?”
Thad wanted to be on his way. Thor was now saddled and standing in the street in front of Beast’s townhouse. His travel bags had already been brought down and strapped onto Thor. “It went fine. Apparently, I’m somebody now.”
She gave a little huff as she reached his side. “You always were. Beast considers you and Nathaniel his closest friends. He thinks of you as a brother. Take a moment and tell me what happened.”
She turned on her slippered heels and motioned for him to follow her into the parlor. He had no choice but to obey, for he was not about to insult this formidable dowager. Besides, she was Beast’s aunt. To insult her would be taken as an insult to Beast.
He was still in a hurry to leave, so he began talking the moment her butler shut the door to lend them privacy. “Nothing official yet, but it seems I’m the Earl of Hume’s likely heir. At least, he’s treating me that way for the moment. Documents have been drawn up, and the Hume clan lairds have been told.” He shrugged. “I’ve never met any of them, and they’ve ignored me for all my life. I’m not certain how much of this news I can trust. However, I did also learn my brother and Caithness cousins are alive. Not that any of those old bastards bothered to tell me, although they’ve known it for weeks.”
Matilda took his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Thad, dear. I’m so happy for you. I know how heavily their safe return had been weighing on your heart.”
“Augustus has been placed in command of the Greys,” he said, feeling quite proud of his brother. “They’ve been ordered to remain in France for now. My MacLauren cousins, Malcolm and Robbie, will arrive sometime today in Weymouth.”
“Returning with the injured.” She nodded. “That’s why you’re impatient to leave.”
“Aye, Your Grace. I’ll meet their ship and then ride up with them as far as Wellesford. There’s a little business I must resolve first. From there, we’ll continue north to Scotland.”
“What sort of business?”
He shifted uncomfortably.
She arched an eyebrow. “You’ll arrive in time for Goose’s surprise party. Wycke will be there, courting Penelope. I assume this is the ‘little business’ to which you refer. What do you intend to do about her?”
“It’s complicated.”
Matilda studied him for what felt like eternity before her eyes suddenly widened. “I knew it! You’re in love with Penelope.”
“Och, Your Grace. I said no such–”
She began to ring the little bell on the table beside her. “Of course, you’re in love with her. Lavinia and I have been waiting for you to do something about it. In truth, we were beginning to despair. Chrichton! Chrichton! We’re off to Wellesford! Where is that man when you need him?”
Bollocks. What was it about women and their fascination with love? And how had she known the reason for his stopping in Wellesford? Did she have the gift of sight?
Or was he that obvious?
Matilda shot to her feet with the spring of a gazelle. “I won’t delay you, for I know you must get to Weymouth. But don’t tarry there. Ride to Sherbourne Manor as soon as possible. I’ll leave today and hold off Wycke for you. But you must act fast. He’s going to propose to Penelope and then you will lose her forever.”
Thad rode out of London, holding Thor back while the roadway was crowded with carts and carriages already descending upon the town despite the early hour. He gave the big gray free rein as soon as they reached the outskirts, allowing him to gallop along the open roads.
Clouds gathered overhead, covering the sun. The air did not feel particularly damp, so Thad doubted there would be much rain to slow his progress. He’d reach Weymouth tomorrow. It would not take him long to find his regiment, for they would be housed for the night near the docks, assuming they’d sailed into port before sundown.
He broke into song as he rode, no doubt irritating Thor, for his voice was wretched. But he hadn’t felt this lightness of spirit in a very long time. Soon reunited with his kinsmen. Knowing the injured in his regiment would finally be home with their loved ones. And now he had Duchess Matilda assisting him in his courtship of Penelope.
Not that he’d asked for her assistance.
Nor did he particularly want her help or anyone’s, for that matter.
That Beast’s aunt had taken up the challenge, responding like a mother bear protecting her cub, had left a warm feeling inside of him.
Is this what mothers did for their children?
He’d never experienced a mother’s love before. Matilda’s fierce determination on his behalf was not something he would easily forget. It mattered not that he could take care of himself.
He’d been on his own for most of his life. He was also a man full grown and had no intention of clinging to a woman’s skirts. Still, her caring shot straight to his heart and made him feel…he supposed the best description was hopeful, happy. “What shall I sing next, Thor?”
The wicked creature tried to buck him out of the saddle. “Verra well,” he said with a laugh, “no more singing. Settle down, ye crazed devil.”
The rest of his journey passed
uneventfully. He reached Weymouth early the following morning. A mist hung over the distant harbor as he approached the outskirts of town. But the heat of the sun soon melted away the lingering haze, and it wasn’t long before the sun’s rays broke through and shone upon the white-capped waters with dazzling brilliance.
As it turned out, the ship carrying his regiment was only now sailing into port. He watched it cut across the expanse of shimmering blue like a sleek leviathan.
“There she is,” he said in a reverential whisper and spurred Thor toward the slip where the vessel was expected to moor.
He arrived well ahead of it, and began to pace impatiently along the wooden slats of the dock, causing them to groan and squeak beneath his heavy footfalls. Waves lapped against the pilings with a soft slush, slush, soon drowned out by shouts and footsteps as workers began preparing for the majestic vessel’s arrival.
Thad’s heart was firmly lodged in his throat as he watched ropes being tossed down, the anchor dropped, and the vessel properly secured.
His cousin Malcolm must have noticed him tramping up and down the dock, for he ran down the gangplank the moment it was dropped. He whooped with joy and hauled Thad into his beefy embrace. Thad was a big man. Malcolm was even bigger, a mountain of a man. He lifted Thad as though he were no heavier than a sack of grain, practically slinging him over his massive shoulder. “Malcolm, put me down! Gad, ye’re an arse!”
When his cousin finally did so, he had a big grin on his face. “Ye look good, ye skinny runt. What happened to ye? One moment, ye’re leading our regiment, and the next, we hear ye’re in London. What idjit took command of the Greys away from ye? I know ye weren’t caught sleeping with a general’s wife. That’s more Robbie’s style. Anyway, do ye ken, yer brother’s in charge now? He isn’t much of a field commander, but I suppose it canno’ matter much now that we’re at peace. Hope it holds. The French are still restless. There could be trouble.”